


Oh Ivy, Baby, Sweetheart

by gloomy



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Editor Mark Lee, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Writer Lee Donghyuck, theyre not. quite enemies. but yknow, well kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23762317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloomy/pseuds/gloomy
Summary: Mark wishes he could say that it's been years since he'd given Lee Donghyuck any thought.Unfortunately, this is not the case.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 22
Kudos: 95





	Oh Ivy, Baby, Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this super sweet song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayMze2qoKvc)
> 
> tw for some homophobic language and past homophobia!! and a big shoutout to ao3 user hoesthetic for all the encouragement he's given me while writing this ;___;; love u andy my bastard twin

Mark Lee is twenty-six years, five months, and six days old when his life comes crashing down around him.

Because right where his new writer was supposed to be standing was Lee Donghyuck, head tilted down to read something on his phone, mouth firmly set in a pout. For a second, Mark allows himself to pray to the God he’d long since abandoned to _please_ , _don’t let that be him_ , but his God doesn’t listen, because when his supervisor calls out the name “Haechan-ssi?” the brown-haired boy in their office sitting room perks up, looking directly at Mark.

Mark Lee is twenty-six years old but suddenly he’s fourteen again, staring, lovesick in the middle of class, holding hands under desks, under bridges. He’s fourteen again, pressing kisses onto constellations made of skin and pigment, hidden away in nooks and crannies, where no one could see, where no one could judge. He’s fourteen, and Donghyuck smiles at him, warm to the touch.

His heartbeat thuds in his chest suddenly, pain spreading towards his dry tongue. _Even after all he’d done, it seemed Donghyuck still had an iron grip on his heart._

He is twenty-six years old, and when he clears his throat decisively, Donghyuck gapes at him in shock.

“Haechan-ssi?” He extends a hand towards a palm that he knows will be warm and slightly damp—and although Donghyuck blinks at the gesture he shakes Mark’s hand, gentle. It’s dry, but warmth curls through his fingertips, pooling into his palm. “I’m your new editor, Mark. It’s nice to meet you.”

Donghyuck closes his mouth, pouts. His eyebrows furrow. ( _Still cute_ , Mark’s brain helpfully supplies, before he mentally curb stomps himself.)

“Minhyung?” He’s still holding Mark’s hand, what used to be soft skin now slightly calloused. “Is that you?”

“Oh!” His advisor suddenly claps, causing Mark to jump a mile high into the air. He’d been so preoccupied with pretending he’d never seen Donghyuck before that he forgot Doyoung had been right beside him, watching the entire awkward exchange. “You two know each other?!”

Donghyuck opens his mouth to answer, but Mark is quicker. “Um, no—I don’t believe so. Have we met before, Haechan-ssi?”

He receives a frown. Donghyuck squints his eyes in that way he does when he’s confused or upset, shaking his head as if to clear his vision. “What? Hyung, it’s me.” At Mark’s carefully blank look of confusion, the corners of his lips slip further downwards. “It’s _me_ , hyung. We went to high school together?”

“Sorry, Haechan-ssi,” Doyoung burns holes in the side of his head as Mark laughs, awkward because of Donghyuck’s insistence. “I don’t remember much of high school—it’s all kind of a blur for me.”

He sees Doyoung frown in his periphery and knows he can anticipate his lunch break being spent while under interrogation by his boss and his boss’s secretary. Donghyuck closes his mouth, finally, looking at the ground and mumbling to himself instead. “But we…we…”

His voice quiets, thankfully, before he can say the rest of that sentence. Mark doesn’t want to hear it.

When Donghyuck looks back up he stares straight into Mark’s eyes, looking for something Mark refuses to give. Mark tilts his head carefully, unnaturally, although he hopes Donghyuck doesn’t notice. “Everything okay? Sorry, man—it’s just been so long I don’t think I’d recognize _myself_ from high school.”

Mark watches Donghyuck smile ruefully, lips pressing together until they’re barely there. Something dims in his eyes as he looks away for a second, grimacing in a way Mark had never witnessed before, features pulling inwards in some semblance of remorse. Mark doesn’t think about the hopeful spark he’d just snuffed out with his own clumsy fingers, _won’t_ think about it. Donghyuck carefully schools his features back into a pleasant half-smile.

“Yeah, all good.” He claps Mark on the shoulder, hard. Mark flinches as it hits, the dull thud resonating through his shoulder, rattling his ribcage. “Mark, was it? You’re so lucky I _chose_ you to be my editor, we’re about to make bank.”

Doyoung laughs, amused as ever, as Mark gives a strained smile. “Alright, Haechan-ssi,” He responds. “Sounds great to me.”

As Doyoung directs Donghyuck to Mark’s office so they could all take a look at the beginnings of his manuscript, Mark frantically mouths “ _Chose?!”_ to his supervisor behind Donghyuck’s back.

The only reaction he receives for his efforts is a sly smile.

Defeated, he traipses after the two other men, onwards in a march to death—his own office.

* * *

Surprisingly, things don’t go to shit until Donghyuck actually leaves, his manuscript sitting open on Mark’s desk, skimmed over and admired (both by Doyoung, and although he wouldn’t admit it out loud so frankly, himself.) There’re small sticky notes sticking out of it—spots that Donghyuck thought were important, spots that Mark thought weren’t fleshed out enough. Donghyuck had left satisfied—Mark knew by the way the corners of his lips had lifted up when he’d bid Mark and Doyoung goodbye, off to his part-time job.

Doyoung had frowned when he’d heard that, sending Mark a ‘ _look into that_ ’ glance. As much as they knew life was difficult with only one job, Taeil payed them all more than a living wage, and writing was kind of a full-time job. He’d have to prod Donghyuck for that information the next time he came in.

“So—how’d,” Johnny says, sliding his new vegan meal of the week onto Mark’s desk, nearly knocking over his fancy clock. It makes a hollow _tick_ as the glass comes in contact with the wood of his bureau. “—Oops, sorry.”

Mark rolls his eyes playfully. “It’s fine, hyung.” The time reads two in the afternoon as he uprights the clock, beginning to put Donghyuck’s manuscript back in order so he could eat lunch as well.

“So,” Johnny begins again. “What’d you think of him?”

“Haechan?” At Johnny’s nod, he hums in pretend-thought. “He’s talented, for sure. He’s got a few rough patches and his grammar sucks _ass_ , but honestly—” He pats the stack of papers he’d just put to the side. “I think we have something here.”

Johnny scoffs. “I know _that_ —I’m the one who scouted him, dingus. I wanna know what you _think_ of him, lil’ man.”

Mark squints at his friend, opening the mini fridge under his desk and grabbing his lunch—leftover pizza from yesterday. “Did Doyoung-hyung put you up to this?”

“As Doyoung’s secretary, I am sworn to secre—” Mark raises his eyebrows, frowning as if he was deeply disappointed. “Okay, stop that, yes he did.”

Johnny ruffles his hair as he tries to bat his hand away, knowing the coconut oil in it will make it look absurd if Johnny got his hands in it. “But, I also want to know what happened. You’re not the forgetful type, Mark.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Johnny shoots him a look as he begins to stuff his pizza in his mouth. “What…? I’m plenty forgetful.”

He receives a disappointed sigh for his efforts to lie. “But not about things that matter, Mark. And I don’t think Haechan—Donghyuck—is very forgettable.”

Mark frowns. He’s got a point. He’s pretty sure no matter what, he’d remember the younger boy’s smile, his sweet, impish eyes. His curved nose and moles that stood out so perfectly on his naturally tanned skin. It would be hard to forget the loveliest boy on Earth. So, instead of arguing that front, he decides to switch topics.

“How do you know his first name? Didn’t he request to be—”

“Anonymous?” Johnny swallows a bite of the falafel he’d brought. “Anonymity only works if you don’t come into work looking like a model. Did a little reverse search, if you know what I mean.”

Mark squints, not just because he knows Johnny barely knows how to operate a computer, but because the idea of somehow “reverse-searching” a real human seems…improbable. “So, you were assigned to do the background check on him.”

Johnny squints back at him, a mockery of Mark’s expression. “Maybe so.”

Rolling his eyes once more, he finishes his lunch by stuffing it in his mouth. “So?”

“So?” Johnny raises his eyebrows.

Mark waves the empty container his pizza was in around, attempting to gesture. “What’d you find?”

He smirks, shit-eating grin already underway. “You seem very curious about Haechan, Mark.”

Mark scoffs. “What? I’m not—Why wouldn’t I be?! I’m his new editor, I need to know what I’m dealing with here.”

“Hmm, touché,” Johnny hums. “But even if this were an innocent inquiry, which it isn’t—”

“I don’t even _remember_ the dude—”

“He specified that he’d like to be as secretive as possible, and I have to honor that.” He finishes, causing Mark to sigh in exasperation. Glancing at the clock, he stands, even though Mark knows there’s at least twenty minutes of Johnny’s lunch break left. “Gotta go,” He stuffs the rest of his falafel into his mouth. “Busy day.”

“You’re going to go snitch to Doyoung-hyung.” A statement, not a question. Mark knows his best friend-coworker a bit too well.

Johnny snorts, a bit of his food falling out of his mouth. Gross. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he shoos the older boy out of his office—he’ll have to apologize to the janitor for the mess of crumbs on his floor later.

“Oh and by the way—” Johnny hesitates by the doorway. “If you were, perhaps by some miracle, since you don’t remember _anything_ else about him, able to remember Haechan’s last name—I recommend checking out his Facebook.”

Mark stares at him, unamused. He’s not going to ruin himself by checking Donghyuck’s Facebook.

It seems Johnny reads his expression quite well, because he goes on to elaborate. ”There are some… _interesting_ pictures on there.”

He doesn’t even have Facebook—never has. And yet, something deep inside him, with a smile looking suspiciously like Johnny’s, tells him he’ll have made one by the end of the day. His finger twitches where it rests on the table.

“Hyung, I don’t have time for Facebook. I’m busy.”

“Oh, sure kiddo.” Johnny quips, half-sarcastic. “I’m just telling you because it’s interesting—you don’t even know Haechan.”

“Right. _Bye_ , Johnny-hyung.”

Johnny’s halfway down the hall when he answers, his “bye!” almost silent, getting farther and farther from Mark. He closes his door, carefully, inaudible. His hands itch for his laptop, itch to open a certain website and see exactly what Johnny meant when he’d said _interesting_.

But he doesn’t give in. He doesn’t listen to the tug of his heart or the crawling of his skin. He refuses to give in, he’s twenty-six now and he will _not_ be pulled back into his old, stupid cycle of self-hate and love—he’s busy. He’s tired, but he’s kept busy with his work and that’s more than he could ever ask for. He can’t afford to be swept up in memories and thoughts of his past. There’s a reason he’d moved all the way to Seoul from Jeju, where he’d grown up. Where he was Minhyung, quiet and shy and disciplined. Where he was Minhyung, the boy with crazy strict parents and a brother that had fucked off as soon as he could. Not that Mark could blame him, he’d done the exact same thing. But now—now he’s _Mark_ , the boy who had lived in Canada for five years and just came back to Korea to be an editor, to dutifully follow through with his career choices. He’s Mark now, and that means he’s bright, loyal and tries just a little bit too hard to be funny. He won’t be Minhyung anymore. He _isn’t_ and will never be Minhyung—ever again.

It’s so hard to avoid eye contact with his laptop, knowing that he’s just a few clicks away from seeing whatever Donghyuck had posted about the two of them—he’s sure it’s something negative, something about how ugly or quiet Minhyung is—was. There’s some small semblance of hope in the back of his mind that whispers to him, saying that Donghyuck, although mean at times, would never antagonize him publicly. Because he _knows_ how much it hurts him. Or at least, he should have. He should have known.

Mark frowns, ripping his eyes away from the laptop, decorated with nothing but a small alien head sticker that Johnny had given him on his first day at NCT publishing house.

Thinking about the past causes nothing but pain, it’s ridiculous that the entrance of one person he’d known—known well, known deeply, could cause such an upheaval in his life. Perhaps he hadn’t known Donghyuck though, perhaps it had all been for show. Grimacing, he takes out Donghyuck’s— _Haechan’s_ first draft and flipping to the first page.

That was all in the past now. He couldn’t afford to linger on things that weren’t of utmost importance. The only thing that was of value now was Haechan, and his manuscript. Everything else was negligible.

Mark takes a deep breath and begins revising.

* * *

He focuses so much on reviewing and researching for Haechan’s manuscript that he forgets Johnny had ever spoken to him about the boy. Or at least, he’d tried to forget, which worked until Jaehyun, one of their advisors, had poked his head into Mark’s office with a “So, have you looked at the pictures yet?”

Mark groans. “Does no one in this office value privacy?! You can’t just snoop around a new worker’s facebook like that, hyung!”

Jaehyun grins, not in the least bit taken aback by his casual tone. “Gripe all you want, kiddo—”

“—why is everyone calling me kiddo today I don’t—”

Ignoring his interruption, Jaehyun continues on. “You’re just jealous we got to see cute pictures of you as a fourteen-year-old baby and you didn’t!” Mark sighs, but before he can say anything, Jaehyun continues to speak, this time a bit softer, more sympathetic. “You know, Haechan’s profile is on public. You don’t need an account to see his pictures.”

Mark frowns. “Seems kinda unsafe.”

“Yeah well,” The older man shrugs. “What can you do—besides stalk him like a creep, of course.”

“Maybe—not do that?”

“You know that’s impossible.”

Mark cracks a smile for the first time all day, a real one, not the half-grimace he’d shown Donghyuck. Jaehyun smiles back fondly, and finally actually enters his office instead of lingering in the doorway, taking a seat on the couch in front of Mark’s desk.

“So, you’re really not gonna check the photos?”

“Nah,” He replies. At least, he hopes not. He has some semblance of faith in himself that he can keep himself together, that he can resist temptation.

Jaehyun huffs a small laugh. “You must really hate him, huh?”

“I don’t _hate_ him.” Mark frowns. Where could he have gotten that idea from? “Donghyuck is just—difficult.”

Jaehyun tilts his head, facial expression imperceptible. “So, you do remember him.” A statement. A fact.

Before Mark can even begin to let out the sigh he’d been holding in, Jaehyun interrupts. “I won’t tell—it’s your business. I just think that maybe, if you’re feeling up to it, you should give those photos a look.”

He knows he will, eventually—Mark is a curious boy, and anything that has to do with him and Donghyuck has always enamored him.

“Why are you all pushing so hard for me to see them? Are they nudes?” He jokes.

“If I had to see prepubescent Mark’s nutsack you’d be visiting me in the hospital right now, so—no, they’re not.” Jaehyun rolls his eyes at him. “You don’t have to be so difficult about this, bud. Everyone knew you were gay anyway. What we _didn’t_ know, was that you had such good taste in men.”

Mark gags.

“No, seriously—okay, wait, not fourteen-year-old Haechan, I’m not a creep but _damn_. He grew up to be mighty fine.”

“Please stop talking,” Grimacing, Mark shuts his laptop, knowing that he won’t be able to get anymore work done while Jaehyun was here. “I don’t even know where to start with that.”

“Well, maybe start with the picture of the two of you k-i-s-s-i-n-g.” Jaehyun spells, grinning as Mark chokes on his own spit.

Donghyuck had… He’d…

“Since when have the pictures been up?” Maybe it had been recent—a throwback, a ‘haha hey guys look at this loser I dated in high school’ kind of post.

“Dude, I dunno. You’re going to have to see that for yourself.” Jaehyun frowns as Mark’s blood runs cold. “You okay, buddy? If I teased too much, I’m sorry.”

“No—I, No.” He shovels the papers on the desk into his bag. “You’re fine, sorry. Just forgot that I didn’t feed the cat this morning.”

Jaehyun snorts. “Guess you’re _pussying_ out of this one then. Literally.”

Mark doesn’t even grace that horrible mockery of a joke with a glance, instead ushering his advisor out of the door with his keys jangling in his right hand and a fistful of papers in his left. He’s shaking slightly as he tries to insert his keys into the lock, out of anger or fear or worry… anyone’s guess was as good as Mark’s, since his head was positively swimming.

“Mark, wait,” Jaeyhyun sets a hand on his shoulder right as he gets the lock to click, signaling that his office was locked. “I was exaggerating. They’re not that bad, it’s not kissing, I was just—”

The words ooze like molasses into Mark’s hypertensed mind, too slow and too thick to calm the million thoughts racing through it. Not kissing? Was it innocent or…something else? Their relationship had been a joke at best. It had been nothing. Should have been nothing. It should’ve just been a simple mistake on both of their parts and that meant that there should _not_ be pictures of him even _close_ to Donghyuck in existence, much less online. “Sorry, I really have to go feed Motzi. Later, hyung.”

“Wasn’t your cats name Mochi?!”

By the time Jaehyun calls after him, he’s already in the staircase right next to the elevator, rushing to get out of the building. He doesn’t particularly care about what Jaehyun has to say, and he _didn’t_ forget to feed Mochi.

* * *

He sits in front of his computer, hands folded in front of his face, staring at his locked screen.

Should he…? No, no, he _couldn’t_ , he’s gotten so far without thinking about Donghyuck. He’s healed, he’s done with that chapter of his life. There was no point in him opening old wounds, there was no point in—and yet, his fingers type in his password, easily finding his browser and opening Facebook.

Lee Donghyuck. As if he could forget anything about the boy. He finds his profile pretty quickly, which was surprising, considering how many Lee’s there were in Korea. His profile picture is old—very old, and Mark quickly comes to the realization that Lee Donghyuck has not been on Facebook in at least a few years. A teenaged Donghyuck grins at him as he scrolls through the profile, eyes mischievous and smile crooked. It’s mostly filled with text posts, all copy-pasted from somewhere on the internet.

“ _Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving_.”

And yet, as he keeps scrolling back in time, they seem to get sadder and sadder,

“ _My mouth says, “I’m ok.” My fingers text, “I’m fine.” My heart says, “I’m broken_.”

He snorts derisively. Leave it to Donghyuck to act like a middle-aged mom on a Facebook profile he’d long since abandoned. Did he even realize it was still up? Did he realize just about anyone could see it?

And then, Mark comes across a photo. Two pairs of legs, hooked together at the ankles. A view of a river, and the ratty shoes Donghyuck always wore. The rock under the legs was hauntingly familiar, as if he’d be able to smell the spring breeze if he’d concentrated hard enough. He clicks through to the next photo. A pair of hands, softly intertwined. Mark frowns, stabbing the next key.

It’s Mark. That much was obvious, his face mid-laugh clear to see, even though it was blurred to all hell. Next.

Mark again, this time looking at the camera directly. He goes to click through once more, but hesitates, finger hovering over the key. His expression—so open, foreign. Mirrored in his eyes are a pair of hands and a shitty digital camera lens. The one he’d gotten Donghyuck for his 14th birthday. He remembers that day so clearly, the beginning of the end.

They’d met underneath the bridge near Donghyuck’s house, Minhyung’s hands carefully hidden behind his back. The camera itself wasn’t that heavy, but he’d saved up his allowance for over half a year to buy it, so to Minhyung it was as if he was carrying a bar of gold, sweaty fingers grasping the gift wrap as tightly as he could.

It was all Donghyuck talked about for the past six or so months. Photography. How much he’d like to travel, how much he’d like to take pictures of both the mundane and absurd. How much he’d like to freeze time with technology—because that’s how Donghyuck viewed the world—ever-changing and yet so slow. Minhyung bites his lip, anxious.

“Hyung!”

He looks up at Donghyuck’s voice ringing from above, only to see him leaning over the bridge rails, grinning down at him.

“Look what my parents gave me!”

And in Donghyuck’s hands is a brand-new, fancy as all hell, camera.

Oh.

The subpar present he’s holding suddenly weighs heavy in his hands, somehow gaining 50 kilograms within seconds.

“Nice!” Minhyung forces a smile, keeping his hands behind his back. This was stupid—as if Donghyuck would’ve even _wanted_ a cheap, stupid camera in the first place. Of course, his parents would buy him the nicest camera, something that he couldn’t even compare his gift to. His grip on the digital camera he’s holding tightens, and he sits down with one hand casually behind his back. He should just throw it out—toss it into the river, let it float down with the rest of the garbage. But he can’t. He’d worked so hard to collect enough cash to buy it—his parents weren’t rich like Donghyuck’s. So, it stays in his hand, away from sight, even as Donghyuck descends the steps to meet him at the usual rock.

“So, what’d _you_ get me, Minhyungie?” Donghyuck asks after the usual small talk, sitting next to him with his white, worn sneakers stretched out in front of him.

Minhyung shrinks, just a little. There was shame in lying, and double as much in lying to someone he loves—his best friend in the whole wide world. “I—I didn’t—"

“Is it a hug? A kiss?” Donghyuck doesn’t notice his inner turmoil, tapping his cheek excitedly. “Or is it maybe…” He leans forward and points at the gift he’s holding as close to his body as possible, as if it would melt into his skin, never to be seen again. “This?”

“I—No, this isn’t,” Donghyuck tilts his head, confused as Minhyung stutters. “It isn’t…for you.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, Hyuckie,” He lies through his teeth, head turned towards his lap. “I didn’t get you anything.”

A beat passes in silence before Minhyung looks up again at his best friend, cringing heavily at the thought of disappointing him. To his surprise, he’s met with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile.

“You’re the worst liar in the whole damn world, Lee Minhyung,” Donghyuck laughs, before reaching around him and plucking the messily wrapped gift from his grip with ease.

Upended, his stomach sinks until it’s underground, nearing the Earth’s core. He was such an idiot, for thinking he’d ever be able to impress Donghyuck, who’d been fed with a silver spoon all his life—Donghyuck, whose laugh makes him breathless for some reason that he can’t quite pinpoint. He’s overreacting, he knows he is, but there’s dread in his stomach and tar in his lungs, and he’ll never amount to anything, _ever,_ not even if he prayed every hour like his mom wanted him to.

Tears fill his eyes, blurring the sight of Donghyuck ripping open the gift wrap haphazardly before pausing, the cheap, digital camera firmly between his palms. Donghyuck’s face is blank, and Minhyung—he knew it, he just _knew_ Donghyuck would be disappointed. But seeing it happen hurts far more than he’d ever thought—not that he _had_ thought, all he’d been preoccupied with while mowing lawns and delivering papers and pulling weeds was how Donghyuck would be so happy that he’d throw his arms around him and vow to never let go.

“I’m sorry,” He starts, “I—”

“I love it. Minhyungie,” Donghyuck turns to him, tears in his eyes. And then he registers Minhyung’s shaky lips pressed tightly together, his face heartbroken. “Wait, why are _you_ crying?”

“I—I got you something useless,” He blubbers, “I just wanted—something special, since it’s your birthday and I _messed_ it up,”

Donghyuck balks. “Are you—Are you kidding me? This is exactly what I wanted! It’s perfect!”

“It’s not.” Minhyung frowns, the tears slowly stopping. “It’s stupid, and cheap, and you already have a better one—” He sniffles again, thinking of all his work wasted, all the times he’d refused to see his friends because he’d wanted to work, wanted to put another five dollars in his piggy bank so he could buy his best friend a camera worth a hundred dollars—no, a hundred and _twenty_. He’d been five short at the cash register, the camera clutched between his sweaty fingers, and the kind old man that ran the shop had seen his desperation and told him to take it, take it for ninety, even. “And I—I don’t even have a receipt!”

“Who cares?” Brows furrowed, Donghyuck brings the cheap camera to his chest. “I want this one! Not that stupid camera, I don’t even know how to get it to work!”

“But, it’s not as good—"

Donghyuck glares. “It’s _perfect,_ Minhyung. I don’t even need this, stupid _fucking_ thing,” and in the span of a few seconds Donghyuck picks up the fancy camera, and then it disappears.

Into the river.

Minhyung gapes as he hears it clink against a rock at the bed of the river.

He looks at Donghyuck, and Donghyuck stares back at him, indignant.

“You’re an idiot, Lee Minhyung.” His mouth opens and closes, in response, speechless. “But you give the best gifts, so I guess I’ll forgive you.”

“But it—it must’ve been so expensive—”

“So?” Donghyuck frowns. “You think they care about that? About me? I bet they didn’t even buy it themselves.”

“But they love you—” He tries, only to be cut off once more.

“They don’t.” It’s an abrupt truth. Sighing, Donghyuck turns to him, meeting his eyes with a sad smile. “But you do.”

“…Yeah.” He responds, overwhelmed by the whirlwind that is Lee Donghyuck. “More than you know.”

A small piece of his heart unknowingly slips off his tongue, but Donghyuck’s ears turn pink, so he takes it as a win. The answer he receives is but a whisper, whisked away by the wind. “Me too.”

Minhyung’s heart hammers in his chest as his best friend leans against his shoulder, hair tickling his neck. A hand nudges his and against his best judgement he takes it, intertwining their fingers together. They fit better than he’d ever imagined—if he imagined it, because he didn’t, but if he did, it wouldn’t have been half as perfect as this.

If only it had stayed like that, their love quiet, unacknowledged between them.

Throat tight, Mark Lee closes his laptop, not roughly with anger or grief, but softly, as if he was holding his memories in each of his fingertips, in the palm of his hand. He calls for Mochi once, twice, and when his cat finally pads over to their bedroom, Mark shuts off the light with a _click_ that echoes around the room. Then, finally, with weights under his eyes he goes to bed, slipping under the covers with a light sigh.

He curls around himself with his beloved cat at his feet, snoring peacefully. And he cries, but just a little bit, for the person he’d once been, for the confused teenager he’d grown up as, for the boy who looked at Donghyuck and saw nothing but love. And eventually, quietly, gently, without disturbing a single piece of dust in the universe, Mark drifts off to sleep, dreaming of mischievous brown eyes and soft, sugar-sweet lips on his.

* * *

The next time he sees Donghyuck— _Haechan_ , he reminds himself—is a week and a half later.

There’s a set of two soft knocks on his closed office door, and when he responds with an affirmative Haechan peeks his head through, hesitant. “Um,” He’s got his hair curled today, a wavy mop of brownish-grey on top of his head, barely reaching his eyes. There’s a hint of color on his cheeks and Mark can’t tell if it’s makeup or not, but his little moles show through it. “You wanted to see me…?”

They’d been e-mailing. Mostly about his manuscript, but Mark’s gently prodded about the other’s part time job, to no real success because Haechan, for some reason, always decides to switch the subject. But not today, no. Today he’d find out exactly where he worked, and he wasn’t letting the other leave his office until he’d satisfied his want for information. Mark smiles, it’s a bit easier now that they’d corresponded and Haechan had not mentioned his past— _their past_ , at all. “Come in,” he motions. “There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

He’s dressed down today, Mark notes, in a pair of ripped skinny jeans ( _thighs,_ his brain screams, but he keeps his eyes level) and a long-sleeved tee. The ends of the sleeves cover half of his hands, and when Haechan sits down he squirms, tugging at the fabric anxiously. Some part of his brain, labeled Neanderthal in bright red letters, enjoys the sight—because at least he’s not the only one affected, at least Donghyuck didn’t have the nerve to pretend like everything was alright. However, that’s mean, or at least he thinks it is, because when Donghyuck looks up at him with his doe eyes he feels guilty.

“Where do you work, Haechan-ssi?”

Haechan pouts, tilting his head carefully. “Why do you insist on calling me that? I told you, you can call me Donghyuck. Haechan is just my pen name—my _nom de plume_.”

“Okay then, Donghyuck- _ssi_.” Mark carefully sounds out his name, character by character. It sounds exactly as foreign as he’d like to pretend it is. Donghyuck frowns even further, and Mark would be lying if it didn’t offer him some sense of satisfaction—the knowledge that Donghyuck didn’t have the upper hand for once was enjoyable to say the least. “Where else do you work?”

“Isn’t it like, illegal for you to ask that? I could sue you.”

“What?” Mark furrows his brows. “No, it’s not illegal, why would it be illegal?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “It just seems like it would be. Harassment for personal information or whatever.”

“Listen.” Sighing, Mark runs a hand through his hair. Donghyuck’s eyes follow the movement, before meeting his eyes once more. “You’re free to not tell me anything. It’s just—this is a full-time job Donghyuck, and a couple of the advisors are worried that you’d be overworking yourself. We do pay a livable wage, y’know? Having another job can easily lead to burn out and other frustrations, so if you’re going to have another job, I’d like to know how labor-intensive it is—just so the others can have a peace of mind.”

“Oh,” Donghyuck says, followed by a period of silence. “That…makes sense. I guess.”

Trying not to seem too expectant, Mark nods. He understands more than anyone how severely underpaid writers were—unless they managed to write a big hit. However, NCT publishing house wasn’t just about the money, Taeil had emphasized that in almost every single meeting he’d sat in. They were about quality, having proper morals and standards, and fostering good relationships with their writers. If there’s one thing he’d want Mark to portray to Donghyuck it was that they _cared_ —and so Mark does his best to frown slightly, feigning concern.

“Um, it’s not really a _job_ , per say.” Donghyuck’s eyes flick upwards, searching for what to say. “One of my best friends runs a bookstore and they’re understaffed right now—business hasn’t been great. Everyone’s buying e-books nowadays to ‘ _save the trees’_ or whatever, so there’s not a lot of customers… so he thought he’d turn it into a library-café hybrid thing.”

Mark raises his eyebrows.

“ _I know, right_.” Donghyuck grins, and if Mark’s heart stutters then it was his business and he sure hoped it didn’t show on his face. “It’s kind of ingenious, though. We’re already seeing more customer interaction! Anyway, I’m just helping him for now because this face,” He points to himself obnoxiously. “Attracts hella customers.”

Hoping his facial expression isn’t as judgmental as he feels, Mark leans backwards in his chair, a bit relieved to learn that his writer wasn’t overexerting himself. _But seriously, who says ‘hella’ anymore?_

“I see. So, you’re just… the face of the store?”

“Oh, no, that’s Jaemin.” Donghyuck smiles. “I’m like… assistant-face. The face that fills in for the owner’s boyfriend when he can’t make it to work.”

_Jaemin._ A familiar name. He should be glad to hear that Donghyuck and him are still friends, but somehow the feeling is overshadowed by something he doesn’t even want to name, ugly and twisted and _upset_ because why wasn’t Donghyuck left friendless like he was. Why did Donghyuck get to replace him so easily when he’s _still_ pining, years and years later?

The feeling reaches his throat, and Mark suddenly feels suffocated. He needs to get out of this room—it’s only him and Donghyuck, and that didn’t sit well with him at all. His heart pounds.

“Oh, okay. Well, since this isn’t a real part-time job—I suppose it’s okay.” He shuffles his papers around, straightening them before gathering them into his arms and standing up. “Doesn’t sound like you’re doing much anyway, just try not to let it interfere with your writing,” he mutters. His chair screeches against the floor and Donghyuck watches, just watches him wince at the sound and head towards the door of his own office, too cowardly to face whatever feeling he just had.

“Y’know,” Donghyuck calls after him right as he touches the door handle, and when Mark looks back at him, he’s not even looking back, he’s staring out of the window in the same position Mark had left him in. His back is all Mark can see, and the slightest hint of his profile. “You’re still the worst liar in the whole damn world, Minhyung.”

Mark’s jaw clenches involuntarily. He’s not supposed to be angry; he’s supposed to be _over_ this. He’s supposed to be healed; he’s supposed to never ever hear that name, or those words, again. He’s not supposed to be angry, Mark Lee isn’t an angry person, but he is, he’s angry and jealous and _hurt_. Most of all, more than anything else—he’s hurt.

And that’s the most pathetic part of this whole thing.

“Please,” His carefully steady voice cracks as he’s staring at the middle of Donghyuck’s back. It’s wider than he remembers it. “Don’t call me that.”

Mark Lee wishes he could say that he’d slammed the door shut. He wishes he could say that he suddenly changed his mind and went back in there—giving Donghyuck a piece of his mind. He wishes he could say he did anything but let the door close softly behind him with a quiet _click_. But Mark Lee doesn’t slam doors.

The upsetting reality of it all is that he’s predisposed to all this—he’s supposed to be angry; he’s supposed to slam doors and scream and break bones. _It’s a cycle_ , his therapist says, _it’s very easy to get caught in these kinds of actions._

But angry, hurt, pathetic Mark Lee walks home, curled in on himself just a little bit more than usual, a serpent swallowing its own tail.

* * *

“I can’t do this.”

Mochi stares at him.

“No, you don’t _understand_. I can’t do this, I just can’t.” Mark replies, curled up on his couch with the T.V. on in the background, white noise to accompany his hoarse voice. “I thought I was better, Mochi. And then he—he just comes back into my life and fucks everything up again. It’s not _fair_.”

He extends his hand, and Mochi headbutts it after tentatively sniffing it. He manages a small smile, scratching the little creature behind his ear.

“I’m gonna call Doyoung-hyung. Yeah. I’m gonna call him and tell him. Tell him…” Mark frowns. “What on earth do I tell him?”

Mochi shakes his little head before turning around, tail held high.

Mark calls after him as he pads off into the kitchen. “Wait, Mochi, what do I tell him?! …Mochi?!”

No answer. Typical.

He doesn’t call Doyoung. Instead, his fingers find themselves typing in Johnny’s number, pressing _call_ and raising his phone to his ear.

It only takes two rings for him to pick up.

“Mark? Is everything okay?”

“Hyung, I—” Somehow, a lump finds its way into Mark’s throat. “I can’t do this.”

“Huh? Hold on, Mark, gimme a sec—” He shouts at someone, distantly. There’s loud bass in the background, and Mark is almost shocked to hear it. Of course, most people don’t spend their Friday nights being depressed subhuman beings on their couches, but somehow the concept seems foreign to him. The only time he actually goes out is when Johnny or Jaehyun—or sometimes even his brother, when he’s in town, manage to drag him out. The noise on Johnny’s end quiets, replaced by Johnny’s voice. “What’s wrong, kiddo? Do you want me to come over?”

“I just—I can’t, yknow?” Mark laughs, almost astonished by how quickly he’s brought to tears. “This whole thing with Donghyuck—” He sniffs. “It’s just too much for me, I’m sorry hyung.”

“I’m coming over.” Johnny declares. “Be there in fifteen.”

“No, man, it’s okay, it’s not that important I just—”

“Dude, you’re _crying_.” And huh, he guesses he is. “Seriously, I’ll be there in a few. Do you want me to bring Jaehyun?”

“I—um, no, it’s okay.” If _two_ of his coworkers saw him crying, he might as well begin searching for a new job. Some part of him whispers that they’re his _friends, why would they care_ , but Mark stamps out that thought. They’re coworkers. They hang out sometimes. They’re not _friends-_ friend _s_.

He wishes they were.

“Alright, I’ll be right there.”

The call ends, and Mark spends the next twenty minutes watching his T.V. flicker, hoping he didn’t make the wrong decision.

When Johnny walks into his apartment he almost immediately hits his head on the doorframe, hissing in pain as Mark barks out a surprised laugh.

“Why are your doors so small? _Christ,_ that shit hurts.” He raises the bag in his hand slightly. “Brought some ice cream, thought we could share.”

And Mark’s not the biggest fan of ice cream, but he takes the other half of the popsicle Johnny splits in two anyways. “Thanks, man. Sorry about—” He waves it in the air. “…earlier.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Johnny counters, making himself comfortable on his couch. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Um, can we—later?” He shifts uncomfortably, feeling oddly like he’s wasting the older man’s time. He gestures at the T.V., as if he was actually watching the idol show currently on.

Johnny shrugs, turning his attention to the show as well. “Sure.”

Somehow Mark manages to become engrossed in the storyline, so much so that he barely even pays attention to Johnny, who was desperately trying to earn the attention of Mochi, who was sitting and staring at him, uninterested, from all the way across the room.

“Oh, he doesn’t really like strangers, sorry.” Mark grimaces. Mochi barely even loved Mark, much less people he’d never met.

“Aww, man.” Johnny pouts as the cat turns his back on them and begins to groom himself. He glances at Mark out of the corner of his eye, as if asking whether he wanted to explain now.

“I don’t think I can be Haechan’s editor anymore, hyung. It’s just—too much.” Mark rests his chin on his palm. “There’s just—I don’t know. Too many like, feelings involved.”

Johnny’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Feelings? Like, what kind?”

“Haechan—Donghyuck, we used to um,” and his mouth feels foreign even shaping the word—“Date.”

“Oh, so Jaehyun was right? Ugh, I’m sorry we made fun of you for it, we thought it wasn’t like that. We thought—it was one-sided. Since you told us about how your family—yeah.”

Mark grimaces. “It was. But not on his side.”

Johnny’s eyebrows come together in confusion. “But you dated?”

“It was like—we were best friends. And then gradually it just…transformed into something more. It was just so…”

“Natural?”

“Natural.” Mark confesses. “Like it was meant to be.”

“And…what happened?”

He laughs without humor. “He broke up with me. And then outed me to the whole school. I left before my parents could find out. Haven’t seen him since then and then he has the balls to turn up here and call me _Minhyung_. Like that isn’t exactly what I’m running away from.”

Johnny whistles, low. “Fuck, dude.”

He nods in agreement. He doesn’t usually curse but… _Fuck_ , indeed.

“How old were you?”

“I was…” Mark counts back in his head. “I had just turned seventeen when I left.”

“And Haechan?”

“Donghyuck was sixteen, I think.”

“How long were you—y’know.” Johnny holds up two fingers, moving them towards each other.

“Together?” Mark asks, humming thoughtfully. “Three years, about.”

“Woah,” He replies, astonished. “That’s a while. I’m sorry, dude.”

Mark shrugs. Pretends it doesn’t hurt.

They sit in silence, finishing their popsicles. He gives himself a brain freeze just to feel something new.

“Okay,” Johnny says once he’s set down the popsicle stick on the coffee table in front of them. “I’ve made up my mind.”

Mark glances at him. “Hm?”

“I’ll be his editor. It’s been a few years since I’ve done it but… it should be fine.”

He gapes. “But, hyung, you’re already really busy—can’t we just ask someone else?”

“Everyone’s spoken for already, Markie. It’ll be fine, I’ll give you some of my work in exchange.” Johnny winks. “Just so you’re not bored at the office.”

“You’re an angel,” Mark blurts out, causing a surprised laugh from Johnny. “No, _seriously_.”

“Anything for a friend.” He grins at Mark, and Mark has to keep himself from mouthing the word, just to feel it on his tongue.

Mark beams at him— _friends._ They were friends. _Real_ friends.

Johnny leaves half an hour later, but Mark falls asleep in his living room with a soft, content smile on his face and two popsicle sticks on the table in front of him.

* * *

The next time he runs into Donghyuck he’s coming back from his lunch break, which he had spent at the café across the street from their building. The workload that Johnny had given him wasn’t too difficult, thank God, but it was enough to keep him busy and away from his thoughts.

He’s trudging up the stairs back to his office when it becomes clear to him that there’s someone waiting for him outside his door. Donghyuck’s sitting on the floor, knees to his chest and his arms resting on top of them. He turns to watch Mark walk up to him, expression blank but almost carefully so, Mark can tell by the set of his eyebrows.

Mark hadn’t expected this. Perhaps it was stupid of him, because he _knows_ Donghyuck is annoying and nosy and always needs to know the who what when where why, but somehow, he’d expected himself to be left alone, to be allowed to simply go back to how he used to live. Donghyuck pats the space next to him, an invitation.

Mark sits. Then he sighs at himself because his office is two feet away, and yet he’s sitting on the cold, hard ground, with a boy he still loved. Donghyuck exhales, staring at the wall in front of them.

“Mark, why do you hate me?”

Mark’s mouth runs dry. “I—”

“If you say you don’t remember me, I’m outta here.” Donghyuck interrupts, head whipping around to stare at Mark, indignant. “I know you know.”

“No, I—” Mark sighs, hugging his knees. “I do.”

The words don’t help. If anything, Donghyuck’s expression saddens further. “Then, why? I was so, so happy to see you.”

That takes him by surprise. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, but when he opens his mouth to reply, he’s interrupted once again.

“I thought, when we ended things—that it’d go back to how it used to be.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Something deep within him swells up, and he’s only left incredulous by Donghyuck’s nonchalance. “You fucking—No. You told _everyone_ , Hyuck. You outed me to the whole damn school and then avoided me like the plague.”

“What?” Donghyuck’s taken aback by his sudden anger. “You think I did that?”

“No one else knew, Donghyuck. Just you and my brother. I trusted you. I _really,_ trusted you.”

“I—I didn’t do that, though. I didn’t, I promise.”

“ _Then who?!_ Pray do tell, Hyuckie, how my brother, all the way in buttfuck, Canada, managed to tell the whole school that I’m gay?” Donghyuck shrinks away from him, and Mark is suddenly aware of how loud he’s speaking. He unclenches his fists—Mark Lee is _not_ an angry person. And, he’s not, he’s really, not, he’s just frustrated because Donghyuck doesn’t even want to admit to his mistakes. He sighs. “Did you want them to do that? Did you want them to marker _fag_ all over my stuff? My desk, my locker, I even saw it written in the bathroom. Did you want my parents to find out? So they could beat the shit out of me and leave me on the street?”

“ _No,_ ” Donghyuck’s eyes fill with tears as Mark goes on. “I didn’t—”

“Did you do it so I’d come running back to you? You didn’t _want me_. I tried talking to you for like a week straight, and every, single, time—you asked one of your friends to come and tell me to shove off. Didn’t even do it personally. I don’t _hate_ you, Hyuckie.” He sniffs, holding back tears of his own as he remembers how desperate he was to talk to someone, _anyone_ about what was happening to him. The looks in the hallways, the guys that would hit him just to see him squirm, the guises of pity he got from other students—and yet no one talked to him. He’d lost his best friend and boyfriend on the same day. “You were just…all I had. You _know_ I can’t talk to my parents. It was just you and my brother, and since you decided to drop me… I went to him.”

There’s a pregnant pause, in which Donghyuck scans his face, searching for something Mark couldn’t quite place.

“My friends, they—I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were trying to talk to me. I thought I should give you space. And then one day, you were just gone. I messaged your brother and he said you were doing better and I—I don’t know. I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“Why did you do it, then?” Mark buries his face in his arms, before tilting his head to the side, peeking at Donghyuck over the fabric of his jacket. “All of it.”

He sighs, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, thumping it against the wall. “Because I’m selfish. I thought if we came out… I dunno. It’d be all happy and fine, like those movies we always watched. And then Jeno and Renjun always said that they didn’t like you because you were so dead-set on keeping us a secret, and somehow that thought wormed itself into my head and I just thought, if you really loved me… you wouldn’t be so ashamed of me.”

Mark’s face crumples, just a little bit. “Hyuckie, I—”

“No, wait, I’m not done.” Donghyuck opens his eyes to glance at Mark. “Your brother kept tabs on you—through me and your parents. And he told me that you weren’t doing so hot in school, that you were just lying around depressed a lot of the time, and I just knew it was because we were fighting. So, I just thought, I don’t know—breaking up was the best for both of us.”

“That’s stupid.”

Donghyuck laughs. “Yeah. I was so dumb—I didn’t even think about how you felt. I was a horrible friend and an even worse boyfriend and—I saw you when Johnny-hyung gave me a tour of the place when I was still deciding whether to sign onto NCT or not. And I just thought…here’s my chance to start over with you.”

“Oh.” Mark presses his lips together. He had known Taeyong and Donghyuck knew of each other… he just hadn’t known that they talked. “And what about outing me? Why would you do that? Was it just—revenge?”

“No!” Donghyuck shakes his head with emphasis. “Minhyu— _Mark_ ,” He corrects himself. “I didn’t. I don’t know who did—but I wouldn’t ever do that. _Ever_.”

“Might be a cliché but you broke my heart, Hyuckie.” Mark smiles sadly at him, watching as he presses his lips together, turning his face to the floor. “Not sure that I can trust you.”

Silence, as Donghyuck idly plays with the carpet.

“I broke mine too, I think.” He sighs, grabbing his shoulder bag and standing up, offering a hand to Mark. When Mark gets up without it, he bits his lip, glancing at the floor. “Is there any way that we could be friends? Or at least—please be my editor again. Johnny nags me about everything, and I just feel like you really…understand my writing.”

Mark inhales. He’s not sure he’s willing to put himself back into that position. “I’ll…think about it.” He watches Donghyuck pout for a second, before pulling himself back together—impatient as always. It makes him smile. “That wasn’t a no,” he teases.

The corners of Donghyuck’s lips quirk upward. “Okay. Just…let me know, either way.”

“Okay. I’ll…see you later then?” Mark asks.

He receives an impish grin in return. “Will you?”

“Maybe?”

“Okay, then I’ll _maybe_ see you later too, hyung.” With a heartfelt smile, Donghyuck turns on his heel and walks away from Mark, only looking back once.

Something in his chest flutters as their gazes meet, and Mark chooses to thoroughly ignore that, stamping it down as he unlocks the door to his office, ready to begin his post-lunch work with new vigor.

* * *

It hits him like a goddamn train a few days later: he’s still in _love_ love with Donghyuck.

Like, _love_ love. Love _love_. Not puppy love—not the sappy shit he’d come to associate with his first love, not the gentle touches and sweet kisses. But _love_ , as in the way his very soul aches when he catches a glimpse of Donghyuck in their office, talking to Johnny. Love, as in the way he keeps returning to Donghyuck’s facebook profile, staring at his face and wondering how on Earth things could be okay, how things could return to okay, and whether he should just let it happen but by god, he’s still so hurt.

Their talk had been nice, perhaps even a little bit eye-opening—but it hadn’t healed his betrayal.

He’d still gone home, sat on his couch, and simply stared at the walls, reliving every nasty thing that was said to him. The concept that it wasn’t Donghyuck’s fault was foreign to him, so much so that he almost loathes thinking about it. Because how could it not be? Donghyuck had broken up with him, had ignored him for quite a few years so _easily_.

If he had truly cared, he’d have chased Mark to the ends of the Earth, just to make it right. Or at least, that’s what the romance novels Jaehyun forces him to read say. Maybe things like that… didn’t happen in real life. Shaking his head, Mark files away those thoughts systematically. Some feelings were better left unexplored.

When he consents to have Donghyuck moved back to his jurisdiction, he’s met with sighs of relief from everyone in the office, Donghyuck and Johnny included.

“I knew you’d make the right decision.” Donghyuck nods sagely, placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Pretty sure Johnny’s been slowly poisoning me. He keeps giving me this gross drink—”

“It’s kombucha, and it’s good for your gut health!” Johnny interrupts from across the table, and for some reason, Mark’s overcome with the feeling that it’ll be okay.

He lets himself laugh at their shenanigans as Ten, their lobby secretary, joins in. And if Donghyuck catches his eye and stares at him like he used to, so fond and so relieved, then that’s his business, and Mark refuses to open that can of worms. At least, until he can get his own feelings sorted.

Which he will do. Eventually. Totally.

He will totally, absolutely, sit down sometime and think about what to do about the fact that he’s still hot for Donghyuck and not only that but he’s disgustingly in love with him too—yeah, all that? He definitely will work through that. Just, not now.

* * *

He gets sick in the middle of October, right as the trees turn bare, rattling in the wind with their brittle branches as weak as his immune system. He barely manages to call in sick through his coughs, but Ten is sympathetic over the phone and tells him to rest, and that the bosses will be told.

Mark also shoots Johnny a quick text, because Ten can be forgetful sometimes.

He manages to turn on the T.V. and feed his cat before promptly passing out, head firmly nestled in his couch pillows.

“—e’s got a fever, should we bring him to the hospital?”

He wakes up in his bed to the sound of an unknown voice, groggily blinking at his surroundings. How’d he get in his bedroom? He doesn’t remember walking here.

“—ait a little bit longer.”

At the sound of Donghyuck’s voice, he groans in recognition. Or perhaps just annoyance. He had no clue how he’d managed to get into Mark’s apartment.

The door creaks open, and a brown-haired Donghyuck pokes his head in, tilting it in an uncharacteristically sympathetic way. “Mark-hyung, are you awake? How are you feeling?”

His voice is soft, but Mark doesn’t even want to think about that because his head is pounding so hard that it brings tears to his eyes. Instead of responding, he groans again, curling up into a ball under the covers.

Footsteps echo on the floor near the bed, followed by the sound of someone sitting right next to his curled-up form, a hand gently rubbing his back through the covers.

Mark breathes, just focusing on inhaling and exhaling, following along the slow way that Donghyuck’s hand drags across his skin.

“How is he?”

Mark doesn’t need to see him to know that Jaemin is standing in the doorway—his deep voice completely gives him away. It’s almost like he’s in high school again. Him, Donghyuck, and Jaemin. Donghyuck’s other friends would always avoid him, but not Jaemin. Never him. He’d dote on Mark so much that Mark had even begun to think that _they_ were friends—not just connected through Donghyuck.

Of course, this was wrong. So, so very wrong, and when he remembers Jaemin’s sad looks of pity when they had broken up he feels like throwing up even more. He coughs instead.

“Not too hot,” Donghyuck responds. “Well, actually, probably a little too hot. Let me check his temperature.”

The blanket is pulled back, exposing his face to the dim light in his bedroom. He groans.

“Sorry, hyung.” Donghyuck apologizes to him. He then puts his ice-cold hands on Mark’s forehead, causing him to flinch and Donghyuck to hiss. “He’s burning up.”

“Here, hold on.” Footsteps leave his bedroom and then return, handing something off to the other boy.

“But, he hates pills.”

Mark snaps his eyes open at the words. Damn right, he hates pills.

He witnesses Jaemin roll his eyes.

“Look what you did, Hyuck. He’s got eggs eye and tea.”

“Shut _up_ , Jaemin.” He frowns, facing Mark fully. “Here, just take them.”

He stares at the pills and their oblong shapes, quiet as a mouse.

And then he refuses, much to the other boys’ disappointment, shaking his head, stubborn as a mule. Donghyuck frowns, and if it makes his heart twinge with empathy then well, that was his business.

“Shit,” Donghyuck sighs, which only serves to make Mark feel worse.

Mark breathes shakily, trying to ignore the way his whole body is shivering—he’s cold and hot, cold and then hot but also both at the same somehow, and he’s saying something but he doesn’t really know what—everything sounds like its hundreds of miles away.

“Please, take them…Baby, please? Do it for me?” Donghyuck asks calmly, running his fingers through Mark’s sweat-soaked hair.

“Donghyuck…” Jaemin warns, light in tone but with implications that his fever-addled mind can’t decipher. Donghyuck shoots him a look, before turning back to Mark.

“Minhyungie, please?”

He pauses at the name, his mind screaming at him to just shut up and die, but he stops anyway, blinking up at Donghyuck’s earnest face. His eyebrows were furrowed, his hand gently resting on the side of Mark’s face, supporting it. His other hand had two pills in it, cradled in his palm. Mark nods shakily at the sight, before opening his mouth and allowing the other boy to feed him the medicine.

It’s a miracle that he doesn’t vomit when Donghyuck pours water into his mouth as well, forcing him to swallow, the pills scratching the delicate tissue in his throat even more than the water manages to. He doesn’t have time to contemplate anything further before he passes out again, rhythmic fingers stroking his disgustingly wet hair as he falls into unconsciousness.

He dreams, for once.

He doesn’t dream often, not this vividly and certainly not of events that have already transpired, but here he is anyways, in his dream, watching two teenagers make out.

Kissing is like, objectively gross from an outside perspective, he decides—even when it’s him. Or perhaps, _especially_ when it’s him, because he watches himself hesitantly use his tongue in that way that only virgins do and he almost wishes he could strike himself dead. He takes comfort in the knowledge that his partner isn’t that great at it either—but at least he’s using his hands, whereas Mark’s were just awkwardly hovering around the other’s stomach.

Mark doesn’t need to look in order to know that the other boy is Donghyuck, but Donghyuck chooses to make his presence known anyway by laughing into the kiss and pulling away, his hands still gently cupping the other Mark’s face.

This dream is rather confusing, Mark decides, because it’s almost like he is both the other Mark and himself are the same—when Donghyuck whispers in the other’s ear it sounds like he’s whispering directly into Mark’s.

“I missed you.” Donghyuck sighs, slightly breathless, not completely ignorant to the way that shivers run down both of Mark’s spines. He runs his thumb over the other Mark’s cheek adoringly. Mark watches, hesitant to believe that that was Donghyuck at all, but he remembers this—he remembers this moment, he remembers every second of it because to Mark—to Minhyung, Donghyuck has always been the most important thing in his life. More than his parents, more than maybe even his brother. Whether they were friends, strangers, best friends, or even lovers—Minhyung treasured every memory with him as if it were the last.

And eventually, one was.

The other Mark, Minhyung, laughs. “It’s only been a week!”

“That’s…” Donghyuck looks down at his fingers, thinking. “Five days too long.”

“Not seven?” Minhyung pouts. It’s so odd to Mark, seeing his past self emote so openly, so much so that he wonders whether the break-up had taken that away from him. Or perhaps, not so much the breakup rather than the events that followed shortly after.

“God, no, I was happy to be rid of you at first,” The younger boy teases him, his black hair flopping as he cocks his head. “But my parents are even more unbearable than you are.”

Minhyung snorts. Mark thinks it’s a miracle that Donghyuck leans back in for a kiss right after, because _man_ , he’s never seen himself look uglier.

It seems that Donghyuck doesn’t care though, pressing his soft lips against Minhyung’s, feather-light.

“I told them.” He says when he pulls away.

Minhyung’s eyes almost bulge out of his head. Mark fights the urge to laugh, knowing too well the first place his mind went—that Donghyuck had told his parents about _them_.

“About?” Minhyung coughs, trying to save face while Donghyuck tilts his head curiously.

“How I’m going to be a writer?”

“Oh…” Minhyung falls quiet, reaching out to hold the bottom of Donghyuck’s shirt in some semblance of comfort. “And? How’d it go?”

“Horribly!” Donghyuck guffaws. “Might as well have told them that I trashed every single painting in their stupid art collection. Or lit their cars on fire.”

Minhyung’s expression distresses visibly, and Mark stiffens as Donghyuck seems to look right at him, through him.

“Might still do that, actually.” He mutters under his breath, eliciting a fond, sad laugh from both him and Minhyung.

“I’m sorry.”

Donghyuck tilts his head in fake confusion. “For what? You didn’t do anything.”

“I know but…” He sighs, looking down at the floor, at the way his hands crumple Donghyuck’s shirt. “It’s—you deserve better than this.”

“I mean, compared to your—” Donghyuck stops himself mid-sentence, even though Minhyung knows exactly what he was about to say. Normally the topic of his parents upsets him but he lets it slide this time with a slight grimace to acknowledge it—the other boy was having a worse time. “Sorry, that was mean. It just sucks, I guess.”

Minhyung grabs Donghyuck’s hands, pulling them towards him. “You always have me though, yeah? I’ll always be here.”

A pained smile flits across Mark’s face as Donghyuck blinks up at the other boy in half-wonder, his expression seeming to relax just a little bit. “Yeah. And when I’m a famous son-of-a-bitch, it’ll be because you’re my editor, huh?”

“As if you could live without sending me your writing every two days.” Minhyung grins, squeezing his hands.

And there’s something Mark forgot. He forgot how often Donghyuck would send him his writing, through text or by literally chucking a leather-bound notebook at his head when they’d see each other in the halls in between classes. He forgot how he’d spend hours just reading and re-reading, making sure that he was noting anything that seemed iffy on his drafts, making little notes in the margin detailing his favorite parts.

The Donghyuck in front of him laughs before gripping Minhyung’s hips. “Shut up and kiss me, won’t you?”

The next time Mark blinks, he opens his eyes to see Jaemin’s face hovering over his.

“Oh! You’re awake.” Jaemin startles, and if Mark were less out of it, he’d flinch away as well. “How’re you doing?”

Some part of Mark wonders why the hell Jaemin was even here—he hasn’t seen the boy in so long that he’d almost forgotten he ever existed. Another part of him is irritated because they’re both in his apartment, and he knows exactly who would be cruel enough to give them the key.

“A little better.” He groans, deciding that the mental effort needed to react negatively to the two boys is too much for his pounding head.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Jaemin flashes him a genuine, if not a little sad, smile. “I’m sorry for intruding, it’s just that I was out with Hyuck when he got the news.”

Mark blinks at him. The news? “It’s fine… I guess.”

Jaemin decides to perch on the edge of his bed without asking, in typical Jaemin fashion. He wonders why he was ever friends with him in the first place as the room swirls around him, muddling his hearing and his thoughts.

“You know he’s still in love with you, right?” And in another example of typical Jaemin fashion, he completely overlooks the mood and decides to just say whatever he’d like. “He dropped everything and came running, when he’d heard.”

Mark tries to ignore the room spinning, tries to focus on the words being spoken, but something in his stomach churns and it’s a mix of anxiety and whatever virus his body was trying to battle, and all he can do at this point is sit up and throw up, directly into the garbage bag that someone luckily placed near his bed.

“Eugh.” Jaemin vocalizes as he retches everything he’s ever had to eat or drink up into the disgustingly scented bag. Unexpectedly, he also reaches a hand out, gently stroking Mark’s back to comfort him.

“Where’s…Hyuckie?” Mark croaks when he’s finished, his labored breath echoing in the small room.

“Sleeping in the living room—we’ll get going in a minute, I just didn’t want to wake him up.”

“You don’t have to….go,” Mark huffs, still out of breath. “I—thank you.”

He’s met with a look of pity. “You probably just expelled the paracetamol you had earlier; I’m going to leave you a few.”

Mark knows he won’t take them unless he’s literally dying, but he nods anyway.

“And hyung, I—I have something I want to talk to you about. Later, when you’re better.” Jaemin rummages through the backpack he’d brought with, taking out the medicine and placing it on Mark’s side table before looking through it again, getting a notepad and a pen. He scribbles something on it and places it next to the medicine.

Mark struggles to look over at it, seeing numbers and some hasty writing, before turning back to Jaemin with a strained huff.

“When… No, _if_ you would be comfortable with it…there are some things I need to explain. And apologize for.” Jaemin’s face crumbles slightly, looking down, towards his clasped hands. “Just, call me, hyung, please. Whenever you’re ready.”

He swallows harshly, not quite used to the downtrodden expression in place on the other’s face. It was rare to see Jaemin without his smile. “Sure, Jaemin-ah. I’ll—later, okay?”

Jaemin’s eyes swing up at him, suddenly hopeful in a way that makes Mark relieved but also slightly irritated because why was _he_ trying to cheer up Jaemin, when _he’s_ the one sick in bed and the one who got bullied and—Mark shakes his head to rid himself of his thoughts. He was trying. Jaemin was trying, and Mark was trying, and it wasn’t right of him to completely ignore the perspective of the other. Sending Mark a small smile, Jaemin finally gets up, patting Mark’s legs through the covers.

“Okay, hyung. Rest a lot and feel better.”

“Will do,” He murmurs, already settling back into bed, content with the cool towel that Jaemin had put on his forehead while he’d been asleep.

The door closes, and Mark is shut into semi-darkness once more, the setting sun shining through the blinds. This time when he dozes off, he doesn’t dream.

* * *

When he enters his living room the next morning, feeling quite a bit better, there’s a figure on his couch that is shaped like Lee Donghyuck and Mark almost completely misses it until he’s about to sit down on said figure with his tea in one hand and the T.V. remote in the other.

“Oh shit,” he curses, barely managing to avoid spilling his tea on the boy sleeping on his couch.

Donghyuck’s eyes flutter open at the commotion. “…Hyung?”

His voice is so sleep-addled that it’s hard to not immediately let a smile take over his face. Instead, Mark hums in response, sitting down with his tea next to Donghyuck’s legs. “How’d you sleep?”

“I should be asking you that,” Donghyuck’s voice is scratchy as he laughs, a low sound that echoes in between Mark’s ears, reaching the depths of his stomach that shifts uncomfortably, whether from his illness or the strange butterflies Donghyuck gives him—he doesn’t quite know. It’s hard to tell. “How do you feel?"

“Better than yesterday, at least.” He answers, taking a small sip of his drink. He turns shy at Donghyuck’s scrutiny, pretending to look outside rather than meet his gaze.

“Are you sure? You look flushed.” Donghyuck frowns.

“Um, yeah.” He tries to seem nonchalant as he buries his nose in his tea, refusing to meet Donghyuck’s imploring eyes.

Donghyuck reaches out with a hand, causing Mark to shrink in on himself even more in embarrassment. It was enough having a boy he still loved take care of him while he was sick—the knowledge that he’d stayed over just to make sure he was alright gave Mark more hope than he thought was possible. Well, that and Jaemin’s words from the day before repeat themselves over and over in his mind, now that he’s conscious enough to process them.

‘ _You know he’s still in love with you, right?’_

“Oh,” Donghyuck’s fingers stop about a centimeter away from his forehead. “Are you mad that I stayed over?”

He does his best to shake his head with as much enthusiasm as his tired, unemotive state can handle.

“I got the keys from Johnny—he said you were doing really terrible and just kept asking for m—" Donghyuck cuts himself off, uncharacteristically restrained. “Well, point is, sorry for intruding or whatever. Also, he fed your cat before he left, so don’t worry about that.”

Mark squints, confused. He had no memory of Johnny even being present in his apartment. Then again, he did somehow wake up in his bed when he had fallen asleep on the couch, so someone must have carried him. It was highly unlikely that either Jaemin or Donghyuck had the muscle capacity to do so.

“I see,” He says. “I’ll have to thank him later then.”

Donghyuck nods, playing with his socks in an absent-minded manner. “Mochi is, uh, really sweet. He was all cuddled up next to you when we arrived.” He laughs softly to himself, as if remembering something funny. “But then you started tossing and turning in your sleep and he got the hell out of there.”

Mark snorts at the mental image, before wincing at the pain in his throat. “Yeah, he’s a funny little guy.”

“Listen, um,” Pressing his lips together anxiously, Donghyuck stares at his socked feet, only glancing at Mark’s face when he tilts his head. “Whatever Jaemin said to you—just… ignore it. I know you weren’t ready to see him, and I know you didn’t _want_ to see him or any of us, really—”

“It’s not like tha—”

“No, it is! And that’s okay. I tried to get him to go home before I came but he’s so nosy—you know how he gets.”

Mark exhales harshly in amusement. He indeed, did know how Jaemin gets.

“Anyway, I’m sorry.” The corners of his lips raise in a grimace. “For crossing your boundaries. Again.”

“For like, the fifth time.” Mark jokes, and the hopeful glance that Donghyuck gives him melts any semblance of irritation that he’d secretly harbored. “It was good to see him, actually, in a way.” At the other’s suspicious eyebrow raise, Mark laughs. “Of course, I’d rather have seen him under different circumstances… but I’m sure I’d have avoided it if there was a chance to. He looks… good. The same, somehow.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that, he’s been obsessed with ‘glowing up’ or whatever. He’d… be really happy to know that you don’t hate him, though. Jaemin’s always liked you a lot.”

Mark blinks in shock, somewhat taken aback. He’d known that Jaemin _tolerated_ him in high school, he at least liked him better than Donghyuck’s other friends did, because he’d actually smile and wave to Mark when they passed each other in the hallways. He’d even doted on Mark when all three of them hung out, almost as much as he’d doted on Donghyuck. Renjun and Jeno, however, made it their mission to make sure Minhyung knew how much they disliked him. Perhaps that’s why it comes as a shock to Mark. Well, that and the fact that Jaemin staunchly avoided him after the breakup, only sending him pathetic looks of pity as he got pushed into walls, lockers, trashcans.

If he’d really liked Minhyung that much, why would he abandon him? Why would Donghyuck?

Something inside Mark clenches, and the shame comes rushing back. None of them ever cared about him in the first place. He was stupid for even considering otherwise.

“Y’know, maybe you should go shower.” Donghyuck suggests, head tilting to the side. His angry thoughts seem to dissipate under the other’s gaze, the gentle way Donghyuck looks at him somehow soothing his hurt. It doesn’t go away completely, but it’s enough.

Mark turns his head to sniff his armpit and almost immediately recoils. “Oh man, I stink.”

“A little.” It’s a kind answer, so kind that Donghyuck seems to deem it out of character for himself, following it up with a smirk. “Actually, you smell like pure, unadulterated ass.”

Mark rolls his eyes, standing up from his comfy position on the couch. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

And so he goes.

His shower is short, and he’s glad Donghyuck didn’t come to check on him because he has to sit down twice, his body far too exhausted from fighting off the virus to properly stand.

He sits and lets the water wash over him as he lathers shampoo into his hair and just—thinks. About Donghyuck, about Jaemin, about the gentle way that they’d handled him, as if he were made of porcelain, breakable. And perhaps, but not in the way that they most likely thought, he was.

But for some reason, most of all, he thinks about how Mochi had woven himself between Donghyuck’s legs, headbutting his hands with a passion that Mark had never observed before in the small creature.

A small part of him whispers that _even your cat would leave you for him if he had the chance_.

But it’s hard to be hurt, truly hurt, because Donghyuck had smiled so radiantly at him, gentle with his hands in ways he never was when they were young and maybe—just maybe—Donghyuck’s hands would be gentle with him too this time. Maybe they’d touch him without leaving scars and bruises deeper than the eye could see and maybe they’d touch him and he’d feel whole again, loved again and maybe he’d just feel—fine.

Mark’s skin longs for gentle touches, he discovers on the floor of his shower, the lukewarm water suddenly pelting against his skin although he hasn’t switched the settings. It hurts, everything hurts, every mundane machination that he goes through every day _hurts_ , and in the way that his walls protect him they harm him just the same and maybe, maybe it would be okay.

He’d try, Mark decides. He’d try, one last time, and with that settled he finally gets up off the cold floor and faces the now-also-cold water.

When he finally towels himself off and steps back into the main area of his apartment, the smell of soup hits him like an eight-ton truck.

“Are you…making breakfast?”

Donghyuck startles, turning halfway to glance at Mark, tofu in one hand and a knife in the other. “Yeah, who else is gonna—” His expression suddenly sours as he takes in Mark’s appearance. “You idiot, you’re sick! Go dry your hair.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Mark starts to say, but the way Donghyuck waves his knife at him makes him reason that well, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

And so, he’s left alone with his thoughts again but this time they’re vaguely warm, because Donghyuck was cooking for him, in his own kitchen, wearing his shirt but Mark doesn’t really mind. He kind of wishes he cared, because _boundaries_ but Jaemin had said he loved him and even though it’s probably not true because Jaemin’s a liar—Donghyuck was here. And he cared about Mark, at least a little. Enough to nag at him like his brother used to, at least.

He ignores the alarms in his head and focuses on how his heart beats fast in his chest, grounding him in reality because the reality of the situation is that he’s still here, and he doesn’t particularly feel like constantly retreating anymore, running away from what Donghyuck represented—no, what his subconscious thought Donghyuck represented.

It’s different now, it could be different.

The soup isn’t the best thing he’s ever eaten, but he compliments Donghyuck anyway. Donghyuck just rolls his eyes and says that it’s bland but it’s meant to be that way—so as to not upset his stomach.

“For something that’s supposed to suck, it’s pretty damn good.” He responds.

A cocky grin makes its debut on Donghyuck’s face for the first time that day. “Well no shit, it was graced by my legendary presence, ‘course it’s gonna be good.”

Mark hums, perhaps in agreement or perhaps just an acknowledgement. It makes Donghyuck’s smile turn softer either way, head turning to face his bowl.

“I talked to Taeyong-hyung yesterday.”

The words almost make Mark choke, but he swallows instead, his strained gulp ringing through the room as Donghyuck stares at him, half-amused and half-sheepish. “Why-What? What’d he say—Why’d you call him?”

“You were calling out his name in your sleep and I just—was worried. A little. He didn’t say much, just to keep you hydrated and stuff. Oh and—he wants you to call more often. He misses you.”

Mark presses his lips together. He hated worrying his brother too much. Taeyong had already done so much for him, had doted on him like no other, had cared for him in a time where he could not, absolutely could not care for himself. Emotionally, physically, his older brother had been his rock for so many years that Mark couldn’t even think of a way to repay him. That’s why he pretends that he’s doing good when Taeyong calls, why he—he doesn’t _lie_ , per say, but he blurs the lines of reality because he’s fine, he’s really fine, but it’s all an act and it’s one that his older brother too easily looks through.

He can’t fool Taeyong like he can fool others.

However, he can fool Donghyuck, which is why Donghyuck doesn’t bat an eye when Mark nods and promises to call his brother more. The rest of their meal passes by with light conversation, Mark laughing at the other’s antics because good lord, he’s cute. The way Donghyuck’s face lights up when Mark lets himself laugh freely? Cute. The way he leans forward into Mark’s personal space just to pout exaggeratedly until Mark gives in to him? Cute. The way sunlight streams in through his balcony to highlight his pretty cheekbones, the slight sparkle in his eyes? Cute. Or rather, breathtaking.

Mark’s still trying to recover, still trying to catch his breath when it’s time to say goodbye, Donghyuck leaning against the frame of his front door casually, studying his face.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” This time when his fingers reach out to Mark’s face they settle on his skin, carefully probing his temperature.

“I’m sure, Hyuck.” He smiles, half in reassurance and half because Donghyuck looks like a fool, probing Mark’s temperature with his fingertips, rather than with the back of his hand. Unconventional, perhaps, but when had he ever expected anything different?

“I—” Donghyuck starts but then hesitates, looking down at his shoes and shaking his head, gently removing his hands from Mark’s face. “I’m glad you’re okay, hyung. I’ll get going, then.”

He tries not to let it show on his face, the way he misses the warmth of the younger’s touch, his skin aching softly where the other had pressed against. “Be safe, okay?”

Donghyuck smiles back at him, but it’s crooked, and Mark doesn’t quite know what to do with it. As the other boy walks away, back broad as ever, he lets the door slip closed, already thinking of how to waste his time, how to preoccupy himself so that he doesn’t think about this too much.

But a millisecond before the door shuts, Donghyuck calls out to him once more.

He surges forward, preventing the door from closing on him completely, facing the younger boy once more. “What, did you forget something?”

“Mark-hyung, I—” Donghyuck stares at his feet, and then at the ceiling, taking a deep breath as if to steel himself. “I want to be the one you call. When you’re hurt or sad or happy or just _there_ —I want to be the one you want to hear first. And I—fuck, I _know_ I’m selfish, I know I’m being selfish because I somehow always am when it comes to you but—"

Dumbfounded, Mark watches as he reaches forward to hold his hand. And he lets him. Because he still misses his touch, maybe, or maybe because he’s still trying to process exactly what Donghyuck was trying to say to him.

“I’m jealous. I’m jealous of Johnny, it’s all I could think about yesterday. I want to be the person you rely on—I want to be the one who’s closest to you. And I don’t deserve it, I _know_ I don’t, but getting that call from him yesterday when I could just hear you in the background calling my name—hyung, I thought I was going to be sick out of worry.”

Mark blanches. “I did _what now?_ ”

“You were calling for me, Mark. And if you don’t remember it or if you don’t want to acknowledge it that’s fine just—please. I don’t deserve it, and you’ve only recently started not hating me—”

“I never hated you,” Mark murmurs, just because it’s the truth.

Donghyuck squeezes his hand in acknowledgement but continues. “When you’re hurt—or you’re sad, call me first. I’ll pick up—I’ll drop whatever I’m doing and come running, you know that right?”

Suddenly reminded of the way Jaemin had said _‘You know he’s still in love with you, right? He dropped everything and came running, when he’d heard,’_ Mark flushes. Because even though Na Jaemin was a liar, perhaps there was some truth in his words.

It’s silent for a few beats, and Mark only realizes that the other was waiting for an answer when he feels the hand in his start to slip out of his grip, Donghyuck drawing an embarrassed grimace.

He tightens his grip on Donghyuck’s hand, preventing it from leaving his. “Okay. I’ll—You’re the first on my list. I’ll go to you, first.”

“Promise?” Donghyuck tilts his head to look at him, crooked smile replaced by an almost innocent expression.

Mark nods. “Promise.”

And with that settled, they say an actual goodbye. It’s only after Donghyuck leaves that Mark realizes he’d missed the way the younger would call out to him, enunciating his name so beautifully.

**Author's Note:**

> :D hope u enjoyed! i have an important surgery this week so i thought... why not post what i have and make this a little chaptered thing!
> 
> also im just going to confess... ive been working on this fic since october 2018. i am so sorry that i am truly the slowest writer on this earth, ill try harder to write from now on!! hope u all have a pleasant evening <3
> 
> [heres my cc if u want!](https://curiouscat.me/glumios) my twitter was suspended :(


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